Hate Me
by violence4
Summary: He hopes his friend will know not to care. Yes, it's more surrealist angst from Violence.


**So, I sit down to write something happy, and instead end up writing extreme tragedy. I think there's something wrong with me. Really I do.**

**Anyway, this fic is a little... experimental. So sorry about that.**

**Disclaimers:  
Mighty Boosh and all characters belong to Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding.  
The song I used, which is part of what inspired this fic, is "Hate Me" by Blue October. The lyrics are in a bit of a jumbled order, but anyway. They're not mine.**

**I hope you like it and I don't depress you!**

* * *

**Hate Me**

_Hate me today_

It's as though a bomb is dropping, very black, shiny, falling with the rain, sleek from being wet, circling closer and closer, down and down, in through the roof of the house, faster, down towards the top of his head. But he doesn't move, doesn't try to escape. Instead he stays naked and curled up, in front of the mirror but not looking at himself, head bowed, backbone almost bursting through almost blue skin, clutching the bones of his knees.

The rain plunges down like bullets, faster and faster, as though someone's put a film on fast forward, faster, faster, faster, faster. The tape quivers as it speeds up; the whole world shakes. His legs feel cold where his fingers brush them. He draws himself closer in and he can feel his own skeleton.

He's soaked from his sprint home, and his clothes lie in crumpled dark heaps around him, like they're trying to breathe, like they're fighting for a life independent of him. The rain roars against the dark tarmac and pavement outside. Water runs down from his fringe, between his eye, over the pores of his skin to his mouth, and over the cracked flesh there. Rivers flow down his shoulders, across his chest. His skin is pricked with cold, shivers run through it like a movie being rewound or, once again, fast forwarded.

The world buzzes, breaking from faint thunder.

He strokes his fingers down his calves, hating the feeling of what's there. Hating his own body. Wishing he could rip it apart, or crawl back, up some dark tunnel, back to being a baby and do everything again. Curled up, trying to become a foetus so he can do everything all over again.

His teeth tighten on his lower lip, so blood gradually fills up around them.

He moans without meaning to.

_I have to block out thoughts of you  
__So I don't lose my head  
__They crawl in like a cockroach  
__Leaving babies in my bed_

_Hate me tomorrow_

17.30. Endlessly pulsing green numbers on a digital alarm clock. Dull, drained steel sky. Dull steel pavements, washed with water. It's colder than it should be this time of year.

He thinks this as he puts a thin hand out of the window to test the temperature. He's so thin, oh so thin – and oh, so silent. He trembles a little. He fetches a jacket to wear.

He gathers his things. Not all his things. He leaves feather boas, sequined jackets, make-up; he only takes what he'll absolutely need. Jeans and shirts. Hesitates on hair straightners. Puts them in the suitcase. Then takes them out again, winds the plug chord round them, puts them on the bed. He holds up a velvety black jacket. He puts that in. A white, tunic-style top. Holds it close as though remembering something. Puts it in, takes it out; leaves in on top of the hair straightners. Goes to his other wardrobe, opens it, looks at the cat suits inside, and closes it again. He goes to the bathroom and returns with his washing things. He puts them into the case. He closes it. It is old, stretched from being packed with too many things, and is now less than half full, but he is so skinny he still staggers a little when he lifts it.

He puts on boots, his plainest boots, but he still shudders a little as though they make him sick.

He has left the hair straightners and the tunic top.

He walks down the hallway, down the stairs, through the shop they have underneath their flat, the one that is always empty. He looks around. His huge, haunted eyes in his drawn face settle on the place where the stationary is kept.

After a few moments, he goes over, takes a pen – pauses – puts it back – then snatches it up, as though not wanting to give himself time to think about it, walks to the glass door, out.

He goes out.

_There's a burning in my pride  
__A nervous bleeding in my brain  
__An ounce of peace is all I want for you  
__Will you never call again?_

_Hate me for all the things I never did for you_

"A'right?"

"Hello there."

"You work here, then?"

"Yeah."

"Wow! That's genius! I love animals."

"Do you, now?"

"Yeah. We get on really well, me 'n' animals..."

--

"You know something?"

"Yeah?"

"When I met ya, last year, I thought, he's awesome, I wanna be just like 'im. Imagine that!"

"You did? Why?"

"I dunno, cos you worked with the animals and stuff, I guess. Not cos of your music taste, that's for sure."

--

"Sky's beautiful, in' it?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes... nah, sounds mad."

"No, tell me."

"Sometimes, I look at the stars, and I wish I could be like 'em."

"What, a big burning ball of gas?"

"No, you pillock. Like... up there. All beautiful. Everyone can see ya, all the time."

"God. Trust you."

"You could come up too."

"Oh, sure. No-one would be interested in me, even less than they would be in you."

"Oi! Anyway. If you didn't come, I wouldn't do it."

"Why not?"

"Cos I can't do much without you."

--

"Give us a top-up then."

"Let's have a toast."

"A'right. To... to a new start."

"To music!"

"To Dalston."

"To us."

"Yeah. To us."

--

"Where have you been?"

"What are you, my father?"

"We're meant to be practising!"

"Well, I was tired!"

"You wouldn't have been tired if you hadn't stayed out so late last night..."

--

"Are you all right? What's the matter? God, are you drunk again?"

"Nah..."

"Okay, come on. You can't keep doing this, you know, going out and turning up home at the crack of dawn and expecting us to wake up and let you in..."

--

"Where have you been?"

"Oh God, don't do this again."

"But the _band..._"

"Fuck off with the band! I was _tired!_"

--

"What do you mean, you can't go with me?"

"I'm goin' to a show in Camden. It's a really big thing; this band, everyone reckons they're gonna be huge, gonna be in NME soon, everythin'."

"But you said you'd come!"

"Yeah, well, that was before those Camden girls asked me to this gig."

"So a bunch of Camden girls and some band NME is about to interview are more important than me, are they?"

"I... "

"You can't even answer, can you?"

--

"Are you drinking? At this time of the day? What is wrong with you?"

--

"Will you stay the fuck away from me?"

"Well, will you stop being so fucking snappy?"

"Jesus Christ, I'm so sick of this! Just – just keep away from me! I don't wanna be anywhere near you."

"Look, I'm sorry, I –"

"Oh, fuck off, no you're not. I'm goin' out."

--

"What do you mean, you're joining another band?"

"Well... our band's a bit crap. In' it?"

--

"Yeah, well, I don't need you. I've got other friends now, loads of friends; you ain't got any friends."

--

"Your eyes... what's up with your eyes? Oh God, what have you taken? Oh my God... oh my God..."

--

"Just – leave me alone!"

"But I'm trying to _help!_"

"I don't want your 'elp. You hear me? _I don't want your 'elp!_ Can't you live your own fuckin' life for once?"

"I –"

"Oh yeah, I forgot, you don't 'ave one. Well, I do! I do! I don't fuckin' need you anymore! I don't need you! I don't need you! I don't need you!"

--

Silence.

--

Alcohol.

Loss.

Loneliness.

A photograph of the early years.

Two girls fighting in the street.

Rain.

_And will you never say that you loved me  
__Just to put it in my face?  
__And will you never try to reach me  
__It is I that wanted space_

_Hate me in ways  
__Yeah, ways hard to swallow_

"He always used to hold my hand, stroke my hair when I'd drunk, taken drugs, anythin'. One time I nearly OD-ed on E. Almost died, 'pparently. He took me to hospital. I smacked him for ruinin' my street cred.

"I found this picture of us, in the first few years. He's standin' there smiling; I'm crouching down for some reason; not sure why. I'm lookin' up at him. I'm smiling. I'm glowing. Glowing like I'm burning bright. Lookin' up at him, always lookin' up at him.

"A few days ago, I saw two girls in the street. One of them pushing the other away. 'But I thought –' 'No!' 'But you said –' 'I don't give a shit what I said! That was back then; this is now, you bitch!'

"The second girl, the 'bitch', turned away with her heart breakin' into water in her eyes.

"And I heard him playin' his old trumpet.

"Haunting, slow, like a jazz funeral march for something that never quite lived.

"And if I wasn't there, he could be doin' that for everybody.

"I told him I'd leave.

"'I'm leavin',' I said. He looked kind of surprised I was actually speakin' to him cos we hardly ever speak anymore. Then he goes, 'What?' 'I'm leavin'.' 'Leaving?' 'Yeah.' 'What do you mean?' 'I mean I'm goin' and I'm not comin' back.' 'But –' 'But what?' 'But... what about...?' 'About?' 'Well... the shop, and your friends, and... and me, what about me?' 'You? 'Snot like I even c –'

"I did it again.

"And I imagined, or rather guessed, that his eyes would be like that girl in the street's eyes were.

"I don't know if he actually believed me about leavin'.

"I won't last long without him, without him cleaning me up, pickin' me up, liftin' me up. I wonder if he knows he saved my life almost every day the entire time we were together. Even when we didn't speak.

"Doesn't matter, though, about me, cos he'll do better without me, and as I'm a failure, that's what I care about now."

_In my sick way I wanna thank you  
__For holding my head up late at night  
__While I was busy waging wars on myself  
__You were trying to stop the fight_

_Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you_

He steps out.

The rain is no longer falling.

Everything is wet and grey and silent.

The film has slowed now.

He wishes, momentarily, that it would rewind, but of course, it can't.

It's getting a little darker, though.

He sets off down the road.

He kicks drops of water away like errors and heartbreak.

He shivers from the cold.

He isn't burning anymore. He can't. There is no glowing, no gas lighting up, no floating in space anymore. No more stars.

They won't know he's gone, until they all get back.

His hand reaches into his pocket to hold the pen.

He hopes his friend will know not to care.

He turns the corner.

_So I'll drive so fucking far away  
__That I never cross your mind  
__And do whatever it takes in your heart  
__To leave me behind_

_Hate me today  
__Hate me tomorrow  
__Hate me for all the things I never did for you  
__Hate me in ways  
__Yeah, ways hard to swallow  
__Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you  
__For you  
__For you  
__For you..._

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**Wow. Not entirely sure what that was, to be honest!!**

**Thanks for reading, if you did.**

**violence x**


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